We've had more than our fair share of snow this winter. Agatha couldn't be happier.
Silly girl loves the fluffy white stuff.
I mean she realllly loves it.
I'm in the midst of cooking dinner and I see her eyeing the door with a look of happy anticipation.
Clearly she's asking to go outdoors.
The problem is that she's already been outdoors, a whole bunch of times (about 10 times in the last couple of hours to be honest.
It's really hard to resist that face.
It's the snow, she thinks it's ice cream.
For some reason she's decided that it's the most yummy stuff she's ever tasted and each time she goes outside, she plunges her face deep in the fluffy whiteness and enjoys a few mouthfuls before heading around the yard to see if the squirrels have been at "her" peanut feeder again.
The problem is that those beautiful long ears of hers are quite efficient at gathering a bit of snow of their own and each time she comes back inside I have to scoot her over onto a big rug to drip dry until her next trip out for a little snack.
She's so happy about the snow, I can't be upset at her.
Ever the optimist, she waits patiently, staring at me with all of her might, using her secret weapon anytime I glance in her direction, she carefully blinks one eye to let me know what a gooood dog she is, how deserving of just one more trip outdoors.
Big brown eyes plead. I stir the spaghetti sauce with a hard heart and pretend I don't know what she wants.
Ten minutes later John wanders in and innocently lets her out again, and sure enough, soon I hear her scratching at the back door this time with about a bushel of snowballs dangling like earrings from her ears.
Back inside and in her favorite spot to wait for the next snow opportunity.
One nevers knows when the ice cream truck will make it's next delivery!